A Lonely Broken World
by DifferentIndifference
Summary: How far would you go to help your best friend?


_**For Charlotte x**_

Harold stood frozen in the middle of the road with Bear at his side. His heart thundered in his ears, his breathing quickened. He turned on his heel and headed back to the library, his sanctuary. At the top of the stairs, he paused and brought his breathing back to normal. The outside world was so big and so dangerous. So many threats and accidents waiting to happen. He went to the kitchen and made himself a cup of green tea. He sipped it and let it calm him. He walked over to the old tatty chesterfield sofa against the wall and sat down. Bear laid on the floor at his feet, keeping guard over his master. Harold had always told John that Bear was his dog, but over the months and years, he found himself looking after Bear more and more and developing feelings for him. Bear was a military dog and would protect him. Harold listened to the city outside, he absorbed the silence of the library, and he found it comforting.

John jogged up the stairs, his ears still ringing from behind hit. Emilie was only 17 but she was a fighter. She'd caught him off guard and punched him in the side of the head. John looked towards the computers and saw them empty, a gentle snoring sound caught his attention. Turning into the kitchen, Harold was leaned over asleep, his head resting on the back of the sofa and his right hand close to floor, near a dropped mug. Bear was snoring softly at Harold's feet, ready to pounce at any given moment. Harold looked at peace, much younger with his worries off his shoulders. John looked at the sleeping man, he'd lost so much. His friend, his family, himself. He bet he didn't even know his real name anymore. Whoever Finch was when he was younger had gone, in his place, a sad man. John bent down and picked up the mug and placed it in the sink. He'd tried his best to help Harold, but he was such a private man. Everyone he had every trusted had been hurt or killed. Harold said on the first day they met that sooner or later they'd probably both end up dead, actually dead this time. The thought made him chuckle. Oh Finch. John carefully removed Harold's blazer, waistcoat, tie and shoes, folding them neatly and putting them on the small table in the kitchen. He leaned across and unbuttoned his two top buttons, allowing his neck to breath. John saw the top of the pink scar running down the back of his neck. He sighed, the pain he must go through every day, every waking moment. John sat on the floor next to Finch. He rested his head against Harold's arm. This man, injured and twisted by life had worked his way into John's heart. At first, John had been so eager to learn about his new employer but now he knew better. The moment of clarity came after they had got Finch back from Jordan Hester. Harold was high, John could have asked so many questions and found out whatever he wanted but he knew Harold needed privacy. But that night, Harold had given something away. He called John Nathan. John didn't know who Nathan was but he must have been a good friend to Finch. John listened to the sleeping man beside him, as he half cried in his sleep. Harold too was plagued with nightmares and memories. John held his hand and fell asleep on Harold's arm.

John was woken by a pain his hand. Harold was squeezing it tight and he thrashed out at a nightmare. Bear was awake and whining at John to do something. John dodged a flailing arm as he sat up. Harold's eyes were shut tight, pain etched in his face. He let out a terrifying scream. John sat next to him and put his arms around Harold and held him till he calmed down. John buried his face in Harold's neck and let a tear drop from his eye. He hated seeing Harold like this: he was powerless to do anything. He had to many skills; lock picker, marksman, getaway driver and hand to hand combat, but he was powerless to help his best friend. The man who had saved his life. John held Harold tight as he calmed down, his tense body slumped against John back in the peaceful slumber of sleep. John leaned back against the sofa, still holding Harold. Bear jumped up on the sofa next to Harold and laid his head on Harold's thigh. They'd keep Harold safe, together.

The morning sunlight broke through the clouds and windows, lighting up the sleeping bodies on the sofa. John stirred first, Harold was still asleep in his arms. During the night, Harold had put one arm around John's torso, the gesture made his smile. Bear sneezed himself awake and John chuckled at him, giving his ears a scratch. John moved himself out from beneath Harold and made a cup of tea. Green tea for Harold. Always green tea. John let the teabag enthuse the water, he added one sweetener and carried over to the tatty chesterfield. He placed it on a coaster on the small table next to Harold's head. He knew he wouldn't sleep for much longer. Today was a new day and tomorrow was a new hope.

John leaned against the black railings and waited for her. It was just before 10 in the morning. The door opened and he stood up straight. A red haired woman, roughly the same height as Finch, walked down the steps and opened the gate. She walked through it and turned away from John and started walking down the street,

'Grace.'

The woman in question turned around and looked at John.

'Yes. Who are you?'

'We have a mutual friend and he's in trouble. I don't know what else to do.'

'OK, what can I do?'

'Come and be a good friend.'

John smiled at Grace. He hoped she'd come with him, if she didn't he really didn't know what he would do.

They walked up the steps of the library. John had answered as many of her questions as he could, but he didn't want to tell her that Harold was alive. She wouldn't believe him if he did. They reached the stop and turned the corner. Harold was still sleeping on the sofa, Grace dropped her bag on the floor, she cupped her mouth with her hands as a small cry escapes. Tears brimmed her eyes. The man she'd fallen so heavily in love with was there, in front of her. Alive. John touched her arm gently, he begged her. Grace took a few tentative steps towards Harold. Bear lifted his head up, John raised his hand and Bear calmed and jumped down off the sofa. Grace sat next to Harold and reached out to touch his face. It was soft to the touch. The tears fell as is all became clear. She took his hand in hers and held it. John stepped forward and gave Grace a small packet of tissues then left with Bear in tow. Grace dabbed her eyes with the tissues. The man before was killed years before in a car bomb, so she thought. He must have his reasons. She traces his hair and face with her eyes, she loved the small Mohawk type style he had, he never used any product, it somehow stuck up by itself. His face looked a few years older than it had last time she saw him, she guessed stress, grief and trauma had something to do with it. She traced his collar – she always loved a man in suit and Harold never wore anything but the smartest suits. She sometimes teased him about it, a pink mark caught her eye. She pulled back his collar slightly and saw the line go down his back. A scar, spine fusion by the looks of things. She knew an injury like that was life changing, and it was painful. She choked back more tears, it hurt to think of her Harold in pain. It was obviously from the explosion, he trusted his reasons for pretending to be dead. They were both incredibly private people, she also knew of his money but it never mattered to her. She loved the man, not the money. If he had done it to keep her safe she understood it was the right choice, a difficult one but the right one. This amazing, brilliant man had been her world, they had everything and they'd lost it all in a split second. She'd never met anyone else, she would always love the funny little man with the ice-cream in January. Harold stirred in his sleep, Grace slipped off her dolly shoes and lied next to him. She rested her head on his. She breathed, he still smelt the same. They were nose to nose again. John had told her a little about what had happened, she understood his fear: after the bomb exploded, she didn't leave her house. She was scared something else would happen. She also feared the world without her Harold. He had given her a new strength and a new life and all of that had gone. She was grief stricken, an abandoned island state where no animals lived and no plants grew, where cold winds howled and ice rain poured endlessly. She'd become nothing, then slowly she rebuilt what she could of herself. She still struggled eating three meals a day, she never slept well and she constantly showered and washed, trying to wash away the pain. Every night she cried until the weight of the world forced her eyes closed. Harold opened his eyes, taking a few minutes to adjust. His nose was greeted with a smell that evoked happy and sad memories, his neck protested in pain. A body moved next to him, a quick movement. He squinted at the figure silhouetted against the lunchtime sunlight. He found his glasses and put them on, letting his eyes adjust once more. The figure came into focus. The red flash of hair, a thin body and bare feet, her hands over her mouth holding back the tears. Harold pushed himself up to a standing position.

'Grace.'

Grace could hold back the tears no more, she flung her arms around Harold and hugged him tightly crying into his shoulder. She felt his arms tighten around her. She heard him cry in her ear.

'Oh Grace.'

They held each other. Minutes went by, all the loss and pain of the last few years came out in tears and hugs. The world stopped around them, the world was beautiful again, lush colours and bright, warm sunlight. Harold put his hand on Grace's cheek, they looked into each other's eyes. Harold kissed her, gently, feeling the weight fall from his shoulders, he was home again.

'John came to me. He said that you needed help. He begged me, he didn't know what else to do.'

Harold sat them down on the chesterfeild, he held her delicate hands in his. He looked at them, they were so talented. Grace could draw the most amazing things: she was the creative and he was the logic, right side of the brain and left side, a perfect match. Harold looked up into Grace's face.

'John told me everything, what had happened, how he left. He stood at my gate broken, he begged me, never said your name, just that a friend needed help. He didn't know what else to do.'

'I've been so lost… so scared. I didn't know what to do, I couldn't find anything to hold on to.' he paused and blinked back more tears. 'And you came back…' Grace hugged him.

'Of course I did. I always will, always.'

John walked up the stairs with Bear carrying a groceries bag. He looked at Harold and Grace on the sofa, his eyes met with Harold's. Harold smiled at him, a true, happy, honest smile that reached his eyes and made them glow.


End file.
